


Rules Of Ruling

by Cris



Series: In The Realm Of The Basses [7]
Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Other, School, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 08:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11482266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cris/pseuds/Cris
Summary: She shouldn't have rejoiced in these small matters, she knew it, especially because she was conscious it was her job to try to give Henry's naturally dominant character some boundaries. Yet, knowing that her son was already thriving that way, recognizing hers and Chuck's drive in him, made her incredibly happy.





	Rules Of Ruling

Chuck crossed the front door of his townhouse and a smile stretched his lips as soon as he stepped into the foyer. He closed his eyes for an instant and inhaled the familiar scent of Blair's perfume blended together with the one of fresh peonies that always filled the entrance. It was the sound of Henry's cheerful voice coming from upstairs, however, that gave him the definitive feeling of finally being home; it reached his ears blurred and muffled by distance, but not any less comforting. Though he couldn't quite catch what his son was saying, Chuck still felt relieved at the thought that he was close and safe.

Impatient to see him, he turned to look at his driver and bodyguard, who had entered the room behind him, carrying his suitcases. "A detour from the usual itinerary will be necessary tomorrow morning," he said sternly. "I'm taking my son to school; therefore, we'll have to leave twenty minutes earlier."

"At a quarter past eight, sir?" the driver asked for a confirm.

Not pleased with the obvious question, Chuck casted an irritated look at him and took the time to hand his briefcase and coat to his valet, who had promptly approached him, before answering. "Sharp," he specified strictly; then, straightening his suit's jacket, he added: "It will be all for tonight. You both can go."

Just as he was about to swirl around and start making his way to the elevator, Chuck heard Henry calling for him. He turned his head and, directing his gaze to the other side of the room, he realized that the kid had shouted ' _daddy_ ' from the top of the grand staircase and that he was now running towards him with a wide smile spreading across his face.

Smiling as well, Chuck rushed to the bottom of the stairs; he barely had the time to reach it that Henry, standing on the last step, had already stretched his arms to wrap them tightly around his waist.

Chuck rested his hand on the top of the kid's head and playfully ruffled his hair. "How are you, young Bass?" he asked thoughtfully, bending on his knees to be able to lock eyes with him.

With a small sigh, Henry brought his hands to his head and smoothed the locks his father had tangled. "I'm alright, dad," he said after, his dark gaze glistening with joy as he stared at Chuck. "I'm happy you're home. Did you travel well?"

The smile curling Chuck's lips widened at his son's perfect manners. He stood up and, doing so, he leaned in to place a kiss on Henry's forehead, his nose buried into the child's hair to breathe him in. "I did," he replied, "but I've missed you."

It was a plain truth; he had been in Zurich for the past three days on a business trip and he had felt homesick all the way through his stay. Though they had regularly talked and video-chatted, there was nothing that compared to the feeling of belonging that holding Henry gave him.

Longing to have him in his arms, Chuck slid his hands under his son's shoulders and picked him up.

Grabbing on to him, Henry drowned his face into the crook of Chuck's neck. "I've missed you too. _So_ much," he said. "But, dad, mom says you shouldn't carry me," he went on with a giggle. "I'll hurt your back."

Fully intentioned to carry him all the way up the first floor, Chuck rolled his eyes. "I thought you liked being carried," he told him, as he started climbing the stairs. "Don't you anymore?"

Chuckling, Henry clung tighter to him and answered in a way that made Chuck smirk in spite of the sharp stab of pain he had felt piercing at his lower back going beyond the third step. "Only when you do it," the kid stated proudly. "I'm _not_ a baby."

"You definitely aren't," Chuck answered with difficulty, trying to catch his breath, which he had ran out of due to the effort.

He actually wasn't anymore, he thought, going up the last couple of steps. Henry had started elementary school two months before and the passage from kindergarten had definitely produced a change in him; he was now more independent and he was definitely developing the quite resolute and cunning personality he had showed during his first six years – one that made him look and sound older than his age.

Though Chuck was happy to see him grow a bit more day by day, it was with an inevitable pinch of sadness that he watched him every morning as he got ready for school; seeing him dressed in his miniature uniform school, a satisfied smirk on his serene face as he fixed the knot of his little monogrammed tie in front of the mirror, made Chuck want to hold on to every childish habit Henry still had. They reassured him; they made it easier for him to get used to the frightening fact that his son was starting to need him in a different, less attached and dependent way.

"Speaking of which," Chuck kept on when they finally reached the first floor landing, "how was school today?"

The child pulled back a little from his father's chest to offer him a bright, proud smile. "Great," he declared smugly. "Actually," he added with a studied small sigh that amused Chuck, "I have many things to tell you, dad."

Always entertained by the kid's complacent demeanor, Chuck raised his eyebrows at him. "Really?"

Henry nodded. He was about to reply when his answer was curtly interrupted by Blair's voice. "Things I'm sure you can tell him later, Hen," she said.

Chuck, who was still holding the child, glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the sight of his wife crossing the living room towards them. Instinctively drawn to her and eager to restore the closeness that three days apart had denied them, he took a couple of steps in her direction; when he reached her, he shifted Henry's weight all into his right arm to be able to wrap his left around her waist.

Stretching her neck as she leaned in, Blair placed a brief kiss on his lips. "Welcome back," she uttered quietly. "We weren't expecting you so early," she told him after, resting her hand on his back, "You were supposed to be here by dinner time. You said you had to stop by the office first."

Chuck smiled down at her. It was barely six pm and, judging by the heels at her feet and by the fact she was still dressed in a pale pink _tailleur_ , he realized she must have just returned from the atelier as well. "I changed my mind," he explained and, speaking, he gave her hip a light squeeze. "I came straight home from the airport."

Realizing the deep end of wistfulness and tiredness in his voice, Blair smiled knowingly back at him. "Better," she commented with a soft tone, her palm gently sliding to his shoulders. Then, looking at her son, she shook her head. "What are you doing up there, Henry?" she asked, "I thought we had agreed on the fact you shouldn't ask your father to carry you."

Henry frowned at his mother's only hinted rebuke. " _I did not_ ," he defended himself. "It was dad who picked me up."

Blair stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes. She casted a glance at her husband and didn't need to investigate any further to understand that the kid wasn't lying: the mix of shyness and tenderness showing on Chuck's face and the way he was guiltily trying to avoid her eyes were the only confirm she needed to shake her head once again.

"It's alright, Blair," Chuck stepped in, as he carefully put Henry down. "One time won't kill me."

It was with resigned eloquence that Blair's eyebrows raised at the wince of pain and at the hardly repressed groan that accompanied his movement. Sighing at the lost cause before her eyes, she turned her attention back to Henry. "Sweetie, dad has been travelling all day," she told him patiently. "You should give him some time to shower and change before telling him about your day."

Fixing the collar of the shirt that popped up from under the red cable knit sweater he was wearing, Henry huffed. "But it's important," he protested. " _Very_."

"I'm sure it'll be just as important in twenty minutes," Blair answered calmly. "You need to get ready for dinner too, anyways," she then added, her tone softening as she reached out to his cheek. Smiling at her scowling son, she stroked his face lightly. "I'm sure Miriam is already preparing your bath."

Henry thought about it for a second, then, crossing his arms as his brow wrinkled, he declared: "She _never_ picks the right soap. I don't like bergamot."

Both Chuck and Blair couldn't help but chortling at that categorical statement. Amused, Chuck let go of his wife and bent over towards the kid; he stroked his head in a gesture that was full of affection and smirked at him. "It sounds to me like a serious reason to go check on her, then," he told him, guiding his hands to the small bowtie still knotted at the child's neck. He smoothed it carefully with his fingers before saying: "We can talk about this important matter after your bath."

Henry's eyes narrowed as he considered the offer; it was only after a couple of seconds that he inhaled a deep sigh and decided to speak. "Can we also practice tying knots?" he asked. Then, pointing at his father's tie, he demanded: "I want to learn how to make that one."

Chuck swiftly glanced down at his neck and his smirk sharpened. "An Eldredge knot?" he wondered pleased. "It's quite ambitious."

"I'm quite good," the kid punctually replied, raising his chin a little in a haughty pose that caused his father's satisfied smirk to soften and turn into a wide grin.

Chuck ducked his head to place a kiss on the top of Henry's head. "You're better than good," he told him, "you're extraordinary."

Blair, who had kept herself aside during that small interaction between father and son, took a further step back, beaming at the scene. There was something in the way Chuck stared at Henry and in the way he spoke to him – enamored, delicate – that never failed to leave her with a touched heart. Chuck looked tired and she knew he was carving to pour himself a drink, shower and change his clothes just as she had mentioned. Yet, she also knew he wouldn't have done any of those things before having given Henry the attention he was used to.

She waited for their son to run up the stairs to his room before placing her arm around Chuck's waist again. When he gasped at the pressure of her hand on his side trying to pull him closer, she giggled. "Backache?" she asked, her voice trembling with the soft laugh she couldn't hold back.

It was more of a rhetoric question then a guess, but it wasn't tinged with accusation: it was affectionate and softened by a certain tolerant patience.

Chuck eyed her for a second. It was the loving smile on her lips that kept him from answering to her claim with an offended expression; instead, he leaned over and, covering her shoulders with the weight of his arm, he smirked down at her. "Not at all," he declared.

Once more, Blair found herself rolling her eyes and shaking her head a little in front of his stubbornness. Still, she didn't answer. She limited herself to shoot him an amused look and followed him as he guided her to the elevator: his tenacious pride, the same as Henry's, was, after all, one of the things she loved the most about him.

* * *

That night, Blair knocked lightly at Chuck's bathroom's door, a discrete smile on her lips; she had missed their intimacy and knowing that she was finally able to talk to him without intrusions left her with a sense of relief. At last, with Henry soundly asleep, his attention would have been exclusively hers.

Chuck had left the door slightly ajar, letting her know that she could come in. Crossing the master bedroom to his walk-in closet a couple of minutes ago, he had casted a secretive glance at her and smirked, as if to invite her to go after him. Sat at her vanity, Blair had answered him with a knowing smile; she had finished removing her make-up, slipped on her nightgown and followed him.

Hearing his voice telling her to come in, Blair pushed the door open; as soon as she entered the bathroom, her eyes went to the long, black marble sink cabinet in front of which Chuck was standing. He was carefully examining his image in the mirror, as he rubbed some cream along his jaw.

Looking at him, Blair couldn't repress a small giggle. "I'm afraid one day or another you'll have a portray of yourself commissioned and then sell your soul to it in exchange for eternal youth," she joked, coming towards him, "so that the signs of age won't ever have to cross your handsome face."

Eyeing her from the mirror, Chuck kept on massaging his skin. "My soul is already far too corrupted for that," he replied as a smirk took shape on his lips. "It's not trading material. The Devil would have no fun in tainting it; it prefers true challenges."

Blair, who had just reached him, wrapped her arms tightly around him and rested her head over his back. She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I missed you," she uttered, her forehead brushing against the silk of his pajamas.

Chuck turned slowly in her embrace and lifted his hands to her cheeks cupping them. He searched her face with his gaze and the corners of Blair's lips tilted up in a small smile under the warmth of his stare. "I'm here now," he replied, before ducking his head to kiss her.

It was the first true kiss they shared that night and Blair enjoyed every moment of it; the touch of his lips was intense and delicate at the same time, just as she remembered it, and, tasting his mouth, she found herself wondering how she was able to live without it each time he was away.

When they parted, Blair freed him from her hold and reached out to his jaw; chortling, she cleaned some traces of cream off his chin with her fingers. "Do you think we can go to bed now or do you need more time for your beauty ritual?" she asked him with raised eyebrows, a hint of mockery in her voice.

Looking down at her, Chuck smirked again. "I still need to pick a suit for tomorrow," he told her, moving to her side to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

A slight frown puckered Blair's brow. "I thought you were staying home in the morning," she objected, well aware that he had the habit of taking the morning off the day after returning from a trip.

Chuck, who had started leading her out of the bathroom back to his walk-in closet, shook his head. "Not this time," he answered. "I have a meeting I can't reschedule. Plus," he added as they crossed the door, "I want to take Henry to school."

Blair sighed. "Oh, I bet he'll love that," she commented. She took a seat on the black velvet _Bergere_ chair set by her side and smiled, watching as Chuck proceeded to open two of the left wall wardrobe's sliding doors. "He's crazy about your limousine. Something about mine doesn't quite satisfy him."

Glancing at her over his shoulder, Chuck gave her a cunning smile. "It's the cream white interiors; he likes black more. He's a Bass," he commented pleased, "he knows how to make an entrance."

That remark made Blair roll her eyes. Henry had stubbornly been asking for a limousine ever since his birthday at the end of September, claiming that he was now old enough to have his own one. Making use of the sense of reality she knew Chuck lacked of, Blair had spent the past month standing against what she considered to be an absurd request: she generally accompanied him to school in the morning and, whenever she or Chuck couldn't, his nanny had access to a regular town-car and a driver to escort him there. There was no need for another vehicle.

Her opposition, however, wasn't stopping both father and son from trying to make her change her mind about it.

"I know what you're trying to do, Bass," she stated, conscious of her husband's attempt to persuade her; he never missed the occasion to try to fight her resistances. "You're not buying him a limousine. He's six."

Looking inside the illuminated wardrobe, Chuck huffed. "I don't see why not," he replied. He picked up a navy-blue suit and studied it for a moment before turning to rest it on the island in the middle of the room; then, he casted a dubious glance at her. "I had one when I was six," he told her. "Earlier than that, truth to be told."

Blair shook her head. "Of course you did," she pointed out as she stood up. She stepped over to the island as well, placed her hands on the marble table-top and leaned in towards him. "Which is why I think it's safe to say you're not the best person to judge what's normal for a child and what isn't."

"As if the rules of ordinariness applied to us," Chuck scoffed. His eyes and his tone were satisfied and he seemed to be pleased by his own pride. "I'm not sure why I should keep myself from granting his desires, since I can."

After an exasperated sigh, Blair took a moment to study his scornful expression; it pleased her and charmed her in a way that had the power of making her forget about common sense. She reached out to his chin, trapping it in between her thumb and index, and stared at him warmly. "You really don't get it, do you?" she wondered, a tender laugh softening her tone and her expression. "It's about teaching him he can't always get what he wants."

Chuck scoffed. "That's a _Rolling Stones_ ' song, Blair; not a rule that can be applied to our son's life," he told her, giving her an eloquent look. "I'm afraid Henry already knows he actually _can_ get what he wants."

Inevitably, Blair's lips had curled up with delight. She pitched forward closer to his face and, when her lips were about to brush over his, she smirked. "And whose fault is that?"

"Mine," Chuck replied haughtily before kissing her. His mouth lingered over hers for just a second and then bent in a sly smile when he pulled back. "Yours too," he added. "We're raising him as he should be raised: like someone who's destined to rule and knows it."

Blair bit her lower lip. His speech had left a sense of excitement in her chest, a deep satisfaction that she couldn't conceal; she ran her fingers over his jaw and, when she locked them with his, a flash of pleasure glistened in her eyes. "I suppose self-awareness is the key to power," she conceded. She was starting to envision Henry in his limousine, his regal pose as he sat there, and the image pleased her immensely. "Maybe Christmas will be the right moment to satisfy Henry's desire, after all."

A victorious expression crossed Chuck's face at her words, his eyes basking in the triumphant glow lightening her face; it was with reluctance that, after a few seconds, he averted his gaze from her and turned. "Maybe we shouldn't wait till December," he told her, opening another sliding door to choose a pastel colored shirt. He rapidly selected a cream white one with golden buttons and lifted it to show it to his wife. "What do you think?" he asked her opinion, his forehead wrinkling in an unsure frown. "Isn't it too simple?"

Blair thought about it for a moment. "Not with red touches," she stated after. She reached out to one of the island's drawers and, pulling it open, she picked a crimson pocket square from the vast selection of red ones set inside; she carefully laid it over the suit's blue jacket and smiled at the lovely contrast of colors. Then, glancing back at Chuck, she asked him: "Why can't we wait till Christmas?"

Chuck, whose eyes were scanning the striped red and blue tie he had in hand, smirked. "Well," he started, making his way back to the island, "a true monarch needs a proper vehicle."

Confused by his words, Blair blinked and frowned at him. "I'm not following, Chuck."

Carefully placing the tie over the rest of the clothes he had picked, Chuck eyed his wife. "Apparently, our son convinced his classmates to refer to him as ' _King Henry_ '," he confessed her, a hint of clear self-satisfaction in his tone, as if that achievement belonged to him as well. "That's what he needed to tell me earlier. He was right to call it an important news, after all."

At Chuck's revelation, a wide grin had spread across Blair's face: it was bright with pride, eclipsed only by the joyful twinkle of her eyes. She shouldn't have rejoiced in these small matters, she knew it, especially because she was conscious it was her job to try to give Henry's naturally dominant character some boundaries. Yet, knowing that her son was already thriving that way, recognizing hers and Chuck's drive in him, made her incredibly happy.

Thinking about it, she could clearly see his glorious future before her eyes, as if it was already real, and her chest burnt with contentment. "It took him only two months," she whispered, her voice full of amazement. "Isn't it impressive?"

Approaching her, Chuck came around the island. He trapped her waist in a firm old with one arm, lifting her free hand to her face. He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, the smirk on his lips becoming sharper as he stared at her. "He's our son," he told her. "I think we can agree it was predictable."

Blair wrapped her arms around his neck and answered to his statement with a passionate kiss. He wasn't wrong, she thought, it was predictable; but not any less extraordinary.

* * *

As promised, it was Chuck who accompanied Henry to school the next morning. The shiny black limousine stopped in front of the three stories limestone building that was St. Jude's Elementary School at twenty past eight, and out came father and son.

Offering him his hand, Chuck smiled down at Henry. "Do you want me to escort you to the door?" he asked, a tad of genuine hope tinging his voice. He was aware Henry didn't need him to, but he still wanted to do it; he did it every time he had the chance of taking him to school, as a ritual he couldn't renounce to.

Grabbing his hand tightly, Henry nodded, a small smirk appearing on his lips. "Let's go," he told him. "I think my classmates are waiting for me."

Chuck snickered, amused by the pleased tone the kid had used; he let Henry pull his arm and guide him up the stairs to the entrance. The heavy wooden doors were open, revealing a part of the atrium and, as Henry straightened the jacket of his uniform, Chuck took the chance to pick inside. Immediately, he noticed a group of children staring at them from the hall; they had bewitched expressions on their faces and they actually seemed to be waiting for someone to tell them they could move.

He smirked. "You were right," he told his son, "they definitely can't wait for you to join them."

"I know," Henry replied, his words trailing off with a sigh. He casted and indifferent glance as his peers before shrugging. "I like making them wait," he then added, a new smirk titling up the corners of his mouth, "it's fun."

Again, Chuck found himself chortling. "I bet it is," he commented.

He handed his son his school bag and said goodbye, telling him he would have seen him that night at home.

After watching Henry walk inside the school with haughty pose and deliberate steps, Chuck didn't make his way back to the limousine right away. Instead, he lingered in front of the front door and took a minute to take look inside the atrium.

There, Henry had already been approached by his adoring clan; standing in the middle of the circle of his classmates, he was speaking with a visibly satisfied expression.

Once more, Chuck couldn't help but smiling pleased at the scene. Henry had the attitude of a leader, he thought as he walked back to his car, and, as usual, the idea made him instinctively proud, filling his heart with the feeling of fulfillment that caught him each time he was faced with the awareness of the many ways the kid resembled him.

* * *

The rest of Chuck's morning went by in a flesh. After the trip, his schedule was packed and he didn't have the chance to take a break till the middle of the day; it was already noon when, coming back to his office after his pre-lunch meetings, he was stopped at the door by his secretary, who, seeing him, had swiftly come around her desk and approached him.

Chuck looked back at her straight-faced. He had a short time to freshen up and go to eat and he definitely didn't have the patience to be bothered with minor matters. "Yes?" he urged her.

The woman gave him the hint of a shy smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but Mrs. Bass called," she informed him. "She asked me to tell you to call her back as soon as possible."

Frowning, Chuck darted her a stern look. "Did she mention why?" he questioned harshly, both irritated by the lack of details presented to him and worried by the unusual occurrence. Bair never called him at the office, if not for emergencies; she usually phoned him during lunch break, when she knew she would have found his mobile turned on.

Under his glacial stare, the woman gulped nervously before nodding. "She said it's about your son, Mr. Bass."

Instantly, Chuck felt his mouth turning dry. He gave a quick nod to his secretary and walked past her; his chest heavy with concern, he rushed into the office and locked the door behind him. He took a deep breath as his hand slid into the inner pocket of the suit's jacket and he pulled out the cellphone to turn it on and call his wife.

His fingers were trembling when he pressed one on speed dial and his eyes went shut as he waited for her to pick up. "What happened, Blair?" he snapped as soon as she answered. "Is Henry okay?"

"Hey, calm down," Blair spoke quietly. Her voice didn't sound frightened; it was steady and calm instead and, hearing it, Chuck forced himself to reopen his eyes. "Henry is just fine."

A shaky, relieved sigh came out of Chuck's lips. "I thought it was an emergency," he said slowly, running a hand through his hair as he stepped to the desk. "You never call me here."

"I knew your phone was off and I needed to speak to you," Blair clarified quietly. "I promise Henry is okay, though. I suppose he's about to have lunch right now."

Chuck smiled at the gentleness of her tone, for he knew it was meant to soothe the fear he knew she had perceived in his voice. He sat down on the chair behind his desk, resting his hand over the tabletop; curious to find out what she was about to say, he started tapping his fingers over the black marble. "Tell me," he told her, "what's the matter?"

Blair paused; he heard her sniff as she did every time she was annoyed and it was easy for him to imagine her pursing her lips. "They called me from Henry's school," she finally explained. "Apparently, the headmaster wants to speak to us. Do you have any idea why?"

Chuck frowned as he leaned back in his chair behind the desk. "Not at all," he answered honestly. The news had caught him completely unprepared; Henry hadn't mentioned any sort of problems and he was clueless about the reasons why the school was demanding a meeting with them. "He doesn't seem to have issues. He would have told me, I'm sure."

On the other end of the phone, Blair inhaled a deep sigh. "Yes, he would have," she uttered disappointedly. "I had figured you didn't know more than me, but I still had to ask. You two like having your secrets, after all."

Catching a pinch of accusation in her voice, Chuck shook his head. "Blair, I would never keep you in the dark about something important," he reminded her; his voice was serene, but it didn't lack of firmness.

Blair was silent for a moment. "I know, I'm sorry," she said after. "I'm just nervous, Chuck. I don't like this. The headmaster refused to tell me anything: he said he prefers to discuss the matter in person."

With his free hand, Chuck rubbed his jaw. The tense gesture, however, didn't match his words; willing to reassure his wife, he decided to avoid giving voice to his concerns. "What's important is that Henry is safe," he told her. Each word was pronounced deliberately and clearly, giving confidence to his statement. "The headmaster would have told you directly on the phone if he wasn't. Anything else can be solved."

He had spoken to himself other than to her, and he found comfort in his own statements. Waiting for Blair to reply, he loosened his tie a little allowing himself to relax; whatever the issue was, he told himself, he would have intervened and made it right.

"You're right," Blair agreed a second later. Chuck thought he could see her smile and look down as she pronounced those words, comforted by his determination. "He gave me an appointment for 5 p.m., however," she kept on. "I know you have a busy day, but do you think you can make it?"

Chuck thought about it, his lips pressed in a thin line; there was no way he could have respected his schedule and still got there in time. He decided right there, in the spilt of a second, that the only solution was to clear if off: whatever concerned Henry's wellbeing was a priority. "I'll find a way," he promised her. "Should I have Arthur pick you up so we can go together?"

"No, there's no need," Blair answered. Her voice had softened; she sounded relieved knowing they would have aced the issue together and Chuck couldn't help but smile, wondering that the choice he had just made wasn't just right, but also the only one he could have accepted from himself. "It's easier if we just meet there," she added. "It'll take me less than fifteen minutes from the atelier."

Chuck nodded. "I'll see you at five, then." He said goodbye with an _I love you_ before ending the call.

He then buzzed his assistant, letting him know that his appointments, starting from the 4 p.m. one, had to be canceled and rearranged, for he had more significant matters to take care of.

* * *

It was five p.m. sharp when both the Basses' limousines pulled up in front of the school's building. Husband and wife came out of their cars almost simultaneously and met halfway in between the two parked vehicles.

Approaching Blair, Chuck gave her a smile. He slid an arm around her waist when he got close enough to touch her and, embracing her, he kissed her cheek.

Blair smiled back as he pulled back. "I'm so glad you managed to come," she told him.

"I had to. It's about Henry," Chuck simply replied, staring at her attentively. Her face didn't show anything but composure and a refined pride, but he could tell from the way her fingers were curled tensely around the handle of her red _Birkin_ that she was worried. He gently stroked her hip with the back of his hand and asked: "How are you?"

Blair rolled her eyes. "I'm fine," she answered curtly, avoiding his gaze. Feeling it still on her, however, she casted a glance at him and then sighed. "I'll be better once we know why we're here," she admitted after a short pause. "I hate not knowing what's going on."

Chuck offered her a sympathetic nod. He understood that sense of impatience and vague concern, for he had been dealing with it for the past hours as well; he had thought he would have gotten some more information from Henry himself, but, when his son had called him once back home from school, nothing in the conversation had given him a clarification.

"We'll soon find out," he replied, giving her side a soft squeeze as he led her up the stairs to the front door. "Remember," he reminded her with a smirk, "there's nothing we can't solve."

The corners of Blair's mouth tilted up in the hint of a smile. They exchanged a knowing look before entering and then made their way along the hall to the secretary's office, which was located at the other end of the room.

The school was quiet at this hour and the secretary, who had obviously been waiting for them, spotted them immediately. He stood up and came around the desk to receive them. "Good afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Bass," he greeted them. "Headmaster Benton is expecting you. Let me escort you upstairs."

Chuck nodded sternly at him; he and Blair followed the man into the elevator and then along the third floor's corridor. They stopped in front a dark wooden door on the left, over which a plaque exposed the headmaster's name. The secretary opened the door for them and kept it ajar as they stepped inside a small waiting room.

Looking around, Chuck wasn't able to contain a sly smirk. He leaned in towards his wife and whispered in her ear: "I've been here before, you know. Several times."

Blair pretended she hadn't heard the comment. She smiled at the secretary when as he told them to wait for the headmaster to call them inside the office, and waited for him to exit the room before turning to look at Chuck. Finally, she raised her eyebrows at him. "I know," she stated. "Like the time you convinced Nate to throw water at your teacher's shirt."

Chuck chortled at the memory. "She had the habit of not wearing bras," he explained with a shrug.

"Of course," rolling her eyes, Blair shook her head. "You were a nine years old perv with a puppet in your hands: Nate." She paused and Chuck saw her forehead wrinkling in a frown at the thought crossing her mind. Suddenly, she glared at him. "This is better not be about anything similar, Charles," she declared. Looking daggers at him, she pressed her palm against his chest in a threatening manner and uttered: "I'm going to blame you if it is."

Snickering, Chuck pulled her closer. "I'm quite sure it's still too early for that, Blair." He placed a kiss on her temple, forcing her to relax her expression and smile. "Henry is six. Though I have a feeling he'll be precocious in this area, I don't think he's already interested in his teacher's curves."

Blair's brow puckered again. "What do you mean with ' _precocious_ '?"

It was Headmaster Benton who saved Chuck from having to answer that question. He came out of his office with a polite smile on his face and stepped towards the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Bass," he outstretched his arm, offering them his hand to shake. "Thank you for coming."

Chuck shook his hand first. "It's alright," he replied. "I'm sure you wouldn't have asked us to come here if it wasn't important."

Behind the well-mannered calmness, a hint of harshness had shuddered through Chuck's voice and, as she shook the headmaster's hand as well, Blair couldn't help but feeling a certain thrill of pride in her chest and she had to contain herself from turning and showing her husband a pleased smirk. Instead, she looked at the man in front of him and added: "Your call worried us, Mr. Benton. We'd like to know exactly what the problem is."

The touch of impatience in her voice was unmistakable and, catching it, Mr. Benton promptly nodded. He smiled graciously at her. "Of course, Mrs. Bass."

He quickly escorted them into the office and invited them to take a seat. He sat at his desk as well and waited for Chuck and Blair to make themselves comfortable before speaking.

"First of all," he started after, "I want to reassure you about Henry's integration. He doesn't have any sort of learning issues. He adjusted well to elementary school; he's actually an especially bright kid."

Chuck shot him a severe look. "We're well aware he is."

Next to him, Blair nodded. "Our son is also very well mannered," she added with the same categorical tone her husband had used. "I'm certain the problem isn't his behavior either."

Staring at the Basses, Mr. Benton took the time to clear his throat, aware that he was walking on thin ice; it was well known that offending them was terribly easy and, since they happened to be the school's most influential financial donors, he was not in the position to risk to do it. "Not exactly, Mrs. Bass," he tried to choose the words carefully. "Your Henry is indeed particularly polite, yes; but he seems to be somewhat confused about his role at school."

"Confused about role?" Chuck stepped in before Blair could reply. He was starting to realize the purpose of that conversation and what he was understanding certainly didn't concern him; if anything, he was annoyed by the fact the man had probably worried them in vain. "Would you mind being less vague and get to the point?"

The headmaster sighed. "It appears Henry is convinced that he's entitled to rule over his classmates; his art teacher heard him stating that, textually quoting him, they have to ' _follow his orders_ ' for ' _he owns them_ '. I'm sure Henry was just playing, but it's a sort of conduct we don't approve."

Listening to the words, Blair had turned her head to look at her husband. He was staring at Mr. Benton straight-faced, impassive to what he was being informed of; she could actually catch a glimpse of satisfaction in his motionless gaze, one that surely came from the pride he felt knowing that Henry enjoyed using his signature sentences.

For a moment, the need to show disbelief and the impulse to accuse the headmaster of lying crossed her mind. Her first instinct was to preserve appearances; she had spent a good part of her life trying to maintain an allure of perfection an innocence around her, and, in some ways, knowing that Henry might had already lost it inevitably bothered her. She couldn't help it.

Yet, looking at Chuck and at the way his expression didn't let anything but approval show through, she forced herself to push that thought away. It was a superficial, useless one; it had taken her a long time to learn not to hide her fierce character and not to make compromises about who she was, and she surely didn't want to put Henry through the same struggle.

She reached out to Chuck's hand and, squeezing it tightly, she declared: "In all honesty, Mr. Benton, I don't see where the problem is. What I see is that my son has marked leadership qualities and that, instead of cultivating them as it should, this school wants to repress them."

The man's eyes widened in surprise. While, in this situation, most of parents would have urged to deny and tried to justify their child's behavior, the Basses were eyeing him unperturbed. He once again cleared his throat, unsure what to say to clarify his position. "Our school promotes tolerance and respect, Mrs. Bass; it's important to us that our students learn that they're all equals."

Chuck sneered at the words. "Am I being told I should teach my son to be a hypocrite?"

"A hypocrite, Mr. Bass?" Mr. Benton echoed him shocked.

"You're asking us to tell him he's the same as his peers, while we both know that isn't true," he spoke slowly, uttering the words in a flat, low tone. "Henry is conscious of his place in the world; and that is on the very top. I'm convinced that if I didn't support his self-awareness, I'd be failing at preparing him for the life he'll be living in a few years."

Blair casted a pleased look at Chuck; their eyes met for an instant and, as they shared that moment of intimate complicity, content smirks hovered above their lips.

Their hands laced even tighter when Blair brought her gaze back to the headmaster. "Power is hard to handle, Mr. Benton," she told him in a serene tone, a courteous smile softening her expression. "I'm afraid that if the school we chose for Henry isn't capable of giving him the means to develop a personality that will help him with that, then we'll have to take a transfer in consideration."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Mrs. Bass," Mr. Benton answered immediately. "Henry loves it here. And it would be a pity for us to lose such a smart and talented student."

Standing up, Chuck smirked as he buttoned up his suit's jacket. He had clearly decided that the conversation was over. "I agree," he said. "The last thing I want is to upset my son," he kept on, pushing Blair's chair back as, sharing his intention, she stood up as well. "We're confident you understood our terms: as long as his nature is respected, Henry will gladly keep on attending St. Jude's; if not, we'll look for other options."

The headmaster blinked. The not so subtle threaten had left him wordless; he stared at Chuck for a second before saying: "You were perfectly clear, yes."

Blair's smile widened. "Good," she replied, letting her husband grab her waist and pull her closer as she spoke. She outstretched her arm for Mr. Benton to shake her hand and grinned when he did. "Have a good day, Mr. Benton. I trust you'll contact us if there's any real issue with Henry."

Chuck and Blair didn't give the headmaster the chance to reply; they turned swiftly and exited the office side by side. A couple of minutes later they were coming out of the school's front door with triumphant expressions on their faces.

Before climbing down the steps to the pulled-up limousines waiting for them, Chuck stroked his wife's arm. "Do you have to go back to the atelier?" he wondered.

"No," Blair shook her head. "I didn't know how long it'd take so I've cleared off my schedule."

"I did too," Chuck smirked at her. "Ride with me, then. We'll go home."

Blair nodded. She followed him down the short flight of stairs and made her way to his car; his bodyguard was keeping the car door open for her and she slid inside. There, she waited for Chuck to dismiss her driver and, as he did, she took the liberty to open the car's bar cabinet and took the decanter to pour him a drink.

When he eventually joined her in the limousine, she had a glass of single malt in hand and a very pleased expression. "I have a suggestion for you, Bass," she told him, handing him the scotch.

Chuck locked eyes with her as he took the glass and a sly smile suddenly curved his lips. "I'm listening," he replied, wrapping her shoulders with his free arm.

Waiting for him to take a sip, Blair snuggled up closer to him. She rubbed her cheek against the jacket of his suit and, looking up at him, she made her hand slide up his chest. "I think you should make that call about the limousine for Henry," she said and her voice was full of satisfaction and delight. "Our son truly deserves to be praised."

"Yes, he does. And so do you," Chuck answered. Under Blair's attentive eyes, he leaned over to rest the glass on the cabinet and then reached out to her cheek. He cupped her face and smiled tenderly at her. "I loved the way you defended him."

Blair held up his gaze for a moment before glancing down. "It had to be done. He shouldn't have to hide," she stated. "I did it for so long and I was never truly happy until I stopped. Henry is a born king; no one has the right to make him doubt that or force him to act as if he wasn't."

In an instant, Chuck's lips were pressed against her in a delicate kiss. Once they parted, his index finger trailed down the side of her face to her chin; he gently pushed it up, guiding her to look back at him. His smile sharpened in a new smirk. "No one will," he stated. "We won't let them."

Blair nodded before kissing him again in a rush of pride. Chuck was right, she thought: rules weren't made for them or for their son. Henry didn't need to be discreet, nor he needed to present himself to people as any less than who he actually was. He was royalty; he was a Bass and that meant he wasn't born to be anyone's equal.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] First of all, I feel I should remind my readers that I have no interest or intention to write pamphlets about parenting; my only desire is to write about Chuck and Blair parenting. I understand many wouldn't agree with their take on Henry's education and that's completely legit. I don't either! But, writing them, I am convinced I need to be respectful of their ideas, their view of the world and above of all of their way of thinking. And this is in all honesty the way I envision them. If you have questions regarding this topic, feel free to contact me on Tumblr or Twitter.
> 
> [2] Details in the fanfiction: I figured Henry would attend the same school Chuck used to. I'm not sure St. Jude's also has elementary and middle school classes, for it was never mentioned in the show. Some private institutes, though, cover education till high school, and I took the liberty to imagine St. Jude's does too. I figured, however, that elementary school's location would have been different from high school's, so I imagined it as I described it in the story.
> 
> I'm sure you've all noticed the small reference to The Picture Of Dorian Gray in Chuck and Blair's closet scene. The song Chuck mentions in the same scene is You Can't Always Get What You Want, by The Rolling Stones.
> 
> [3] This one-shot was written as a birthday gift to my dear Daphne.
> 
> [4] I'm not English, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.


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